


Pennies

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitution, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Lord Stark visits Petyr's brothel, and he gains a better understanding of Catelyn's husband.





	Pennies

**Author's Note:**

> Arose from a discussion on the asoiaf rarepairs discord re: Petyr/Ned, where I admitted I could see it, and this ensued.

Lord Stark looks very strange in a brothel.

This is not news to anyone, of course, but Petyr can't help but let his mouth twist in mirth as he watches Eddard's eyes stay attached to the floor, desperately avoiding looking at what his girls are showing off, a fierce blush hidden behind that wild northern beard. He looks like a boy after his first woman, and Petyr wonders if Catelyn knows her husband to be such a blushing maid.

Petyr knows the King's Hand is here to speak with him, and he really ought to go rescue the man from his misery, but it is too fun to watch him suffer. In a moment. He'll keep Cat's husband in distress just a moment more.

He does note that Lord Eddard is _very_ careful to keep his eyes upon the floor. Some men are not. Lord Stannis, for example, when he once had to visit Petyr's property, had no compunctions about glaring at his whores with disdain – he had no interest in them. For all his pontificating, Lord Eddard's will is not so strong.

It's not that much of a shock, really. Everyone knows about that bastard of his. He was quite the fool, really, bringing the boy to the castle with him, so everyone would have to know about it and Cat could never forget ( _I would never humiliate her like that,_ whispers a voice at the back of his mind). Petyr won't pretend to know why he did it. Still, what he does know is that there is a wolf in Lord Stark, behind all that honour and respectability, and Cat will always, always know that.

Then, someone draws Ned Stark's eye.

Just for a second, mind. Someone who hadn't spent as many years operating a brothel as Petyr might never notice, but he always has an eye out for these things, spotting where he might make an extra halfpenny. And it startles him.

He has, on lonely nights he does not wish to dwell on, wondered what Catelyn's husband must really want – does he lust after women with red hair and pale skin and heaving breasts like hers? Could any man not? Or, since he was forced into marrying her, does he want the very opposite, all dark colours and tight, wispy frames. And in a way, the latter speculation is correct. Just not how Petyr would have expected.

For, what draws Eddard's eye isn't a woman at all, but a young man.

A very handsome young man, it must be said. One with muscles slicked up with oil running down his chest, black hair down to his shoulders, and elsewhere too. Many of his boy whores look halfway to being girls themselves, but not this one. He will be a man some day, no doubt about it.

He looks, it must be said, not an inconsiderable amount like their king used to.

Ned tears his eyes away quickly, not willing to stray from his wife ( _again_ ) even in his imagination – but it's too late. Petyr has seen, and oh, the things he can do with this. Catelyn did always love the new gods so very much. He wonders what she would make of this.

With that, Petyr wonders out into the hall, 'saving' Lord Stark from the muck.

* * *

Lord Stark has come to talk about the sorts of things he always does, the Lannisters and what latest subterfuge they're up to, the schemes and plots he could not begin to grasp the depths of, and of course Robert, his beloved king. Worries upon worries, Lord Stark has. Not unlike many of the men who visit his premises. However, Lord Stark is among the few who leave with no relief from them.

Well, Petyr's professional pride can hardly stand that.

He's too smart a man to simply ignore everything Lord Stark is saying, but he's long since practiced the art of taking in the information he needs, to be accessed at a later date, while keeping his mind clear while it's not necessary. Although he'll acknowledge that Lord Stark may not be aware of that fact.

“Are you listening to me, Baelish?” he huffs, in that rough Northern way of his.

Petyr, wily as ever, smiles at him – smiles seem to leave poor Eddard a little on edge, which must be why Petyr gives him them so often. “Of course, my lord,” he says. “I'd be a fool not to pay attention to what the Hand of the King tells me.” Lord Stark is unimpressed by the flattery – and so Petyr only ever lays it on thicker, mocking him quietly. “Although I admit, I don't see what here couldn't have waited until the next council meeting.” He pauses, and smirks. “You know, some might accuse you of coming to enjoy my company.”

Eddard's brows narrow. “Don't flatter yourself,” he says, but Petyr can spot the tiniest crook of his mouth when he says it. The man really is growing fond of him. Oh dear.

Petyr laughs good-naturedly. “Well, it's either my company you're looking for, or someone else's here. Which do you think your lady wife would prefer?”

Lord Stark stops, and now, there is no warmth in his face, none at all. “Baelish.”

Petyr has to backtrack, before he gets his throat slit. He grins, and raises his hands in supplication. “Forgive me, my lord. An ill-thought jape, nothing more.” Lord Eddard still does not seem convinced, and so Petyr lets a mask of seriousness descend upon his face. “Come now, you know how deeply I care for your wife. I mean her no disrespect.”

Lord Eddard sighs deeply, and averts his eyes. While he's not looking, Petyr smirks a little. The man will probably never truly like him, but he does trust him, because Catelyn trusts him. He is a fool. But a kind fool.

Petyr wonders if that's really the sort of man Cat wants.

It takes Stark a long time to return his gaze, dwelling on something or other, and Petyr ponders the situation. He hardly has anything else to do after all.

“You know, you don't have to be ashamed of yourself.”

Stark's face snaps back up, ready to launch into a cold fury, but Petyr pays it no heed. He knows his words have gotten under the honourable Lord Eddard's skin, now it is only a matter of following them up. “You'd hardly be a man if you never even glanced at the girls,” _or boys,_ but he'll have to work up to being able to add that nugget of information. Lord Eddard gets a guilty expression. “There's no harm in simply looking,” as Petyr told himself many a time when he happened to stumble upon Cat bathing in the river. “I'm sure Catelyn would understand.”

Eddard flinches. He seems far from convinced, but he does not storm out. That would be the most obvious response, but no – Lord Stark is not completely immune to human weakness. Everyone knows about that bastard of his, after all. Furthermore, he does in fact want to be flattered, or at least reassured – to be told that actually, the things he shames himself for are not so bad at all.

This seems much easier than Petyr would have expected.

Petyr does not know why he is playing this game. It is a risk, that cannot be denied. But Petyr has never had a problem humbling himself to get what he wants, and among the many things he wants, he's always prided himself on his ability to seek knowledge. And knowledge about this man, in particular...

“I'm sure you have your reasons for saying that,” Lord Stark says gruffly, his posture embarrassed. “I've never known brothelkeepers to value fidelity too highly.”

Petyr has to laugh. That is a fair point. “True, my lord,” he answers. “The businessman in me would be quite content to have you put aside your principles, just for one night.” Stark frowns again, and Petyr carries on breezily. “But then again, it might not make that much difference. I don't think my girls think they would earn too much coin from you.”

That makes Stark frown deeper. “I would never cheat a woman of fair payment.”

Petyr smirks. Of course, even when Lord Stark does debase himself to sleep with whores, he has to treat _them_ honourably as well. _The thought's in his head now._ “Of course not,” he says. “But you would not give them a penny more than they earned either.”

Stark says nothing to that, and he probably is not sure himself. He likely does not know himself. _But he must have done once,_ Petyr thinks. _He must have fathered that bastard on someone._ “Us brothelkeepers may not value fidelity too highly,” Petyr says, “but we do have values of our own. Loyalty, open-mindedness, discretion.” He puts the slightest emphasis on the last word.

“Useful for your clients, I suppose,” Lord Eddard snorts, but he seems unimpressed. Does he ever seem impressed? Has poor Cat spent the last summer trying to earn this cold man's approval?

“Come now, my lord. Don't pretend you can't relate at all.” Lord Eddard glowers again, and Petyr carries on, musing to himself: “I've always been careful not to let clients walk out of here with a bastard, if they mention that's a concern.”

Lord Stark goes stiff. His eyes turn on Petyr, as hard as steel. He's angry now. “What, do you think I would just abandon any child I fathered here?”

Petyr has to backtrack, again. It would not do to push Lord Stark out of his grasp entirely. “Oh no, of course not,” he insists, once more meaning to flatter the man – his sense of his own righteousness. “I'm sure you would take responsibility for your mistakes, whatever the... consequences.” Maybe Petyr slips up a little there. He knows Cat, he knows how much having her husband's bastard paraded before her very eyes would hurt. She would never speak of it though. Would never insist upon her own needs. _Family, duty, honour._ Lord Tully trained her well. “I only mean, I do not think anyone sought to remind you of the consequences when you... well. Whereas here, I do try to be thoughtful, to offer my clients options to avoid such things. I may not value fidelity, but I have no interest in seeing women hurt by the evidence of it.” _Women like Cat._

Stark winces, the slight clearly stinging, but he will not try to defend himself. “I do not know how you could have a man sleep with a girl with no risk of a bastard,” he mutters.

“Oh, who said anything about a girl?”

Lord Stark looks startled again, and Petyr raises an eyebrow. “Come now, my lord, anyone who spent as long at war as yourself cannot possibly be shocked by such things.” And Lord Stark averts his eyes, embarrassed once more, blush not quite hidden by that thick northern beard. It's funny – for the solemn air he carries himself well, he seems a boy in many ways, prudish and nervous – not like Cat, who was always a woman before her time. “And brothels have much the same affect as battlefields, it turns out. You'd be surprised how much men's tastes widen when they are sure no-one knows, or when they might die tomorrow anyway.”

That might be a slight exaggeration. Petyr has seen plenty of men's eyes stray toward the boys in his walls, men who would never dream of actually buying one of them. After all, they would still know the boys knew, and that Petyr himself probably knew.

But Lord Stark doesn't need to know that.

Lord Stark doesn't answer, and Petyr cocks his head to the side curiously. He wonders if Stark and Baratheon ever warmed each other's sheets, during those long, slogging battles to bring the Mad King down. After Catelyn married. He does know King Robert to have a prostigous apetite – albeit, never extending to boys before, but if there were no girls to be had, Petyr couldn't rule it out.

Then again, probably not. Eddard clearly still desires it too much for it to have ever actually happened.

Petyr does not truly know why he's playing this game. But still, he needs to _know_.

_Is this your husband, Cat? Do you know this side of him? Do you know his weaknesses, his lusts? Could you forgive them? Or would he appall you? Would he appall you, if only you knew him as he truly is?_

_Would you come back to me then?_

Petyr shakes away the thought, and purposefully he crosses the room, takes a seat next to Lord Stark himself. He looks startled, but does not move away. “I did mention us brothelkeepers and our open-mindedness, yes?” he asks. “You don't have to worry, my lord. Whatever you say here, I will not use it against you.” He's told many lies in his life – few as blatant as that.

Lord Stark still doesn't meet his eye, pretending he doesn't know what Petyr is hinting at. These Northerners, they're no good at talking. Petyr might need to take a more direct approach. With a sure, certain hand – by no mean's a warrior's hand; one as smooth as the coins he's turned over in them, many times – he takes ahold of Lord Stark's thigh.

A spark runs up his spine. Petyr tries not to take unnecessary risks – though in his business, one does have to take many necessary risks – but he's always been partial to the old roll of the die. He's a gambling man, through and through.

Stark finally looks at him, in alarm. “My lord–” he barks out, and then stops. He does not know what to say about these things.

Petyr smiles kindly, or as kindly as he can, and wonders. Was the honourable Lord Stark this easy the last time around? Did that Dornish whore have to work for her bastard at all? “Forgive me, my lord,” he says, and squeezes. “I got an implication. If I have misread, then by all means, I'll stop, and we will never speak of it again.”

Eddard does not answer at first, but his breath comes faster – Petyr can already feel a warmth spread downward from his groin. It's been months since he last saw his lady wife, after all – in this very building, no less. “I-I can't,” he stutters, and he sounds very young. “Cat–”

“I know,” Petyr says, and he only moves his hand up higher. “But I know Cat, and she is a very sensible woman. I do not think, when she sent you to the capital, she truly believed you would never touch anyone but herself, for however many years you happen to be here.” _Not after what happened last time, that is._ Lord Stark bites his lip nervously. Petyr does not know if that's true, not really – he hasn't seen Cat in years, how would he know if she would care? If she _didn't_ care, would that prove something? That she never really loved her husband at all, it was all politics?

“Cat, I'm sure,” Petyr leans in to whisper in Eddard's ear, “just does not want to be humiliated, to have you come back with another babe in arms.” Lord Stark shudders and his ears turn red. Perhaps Cat is not the only one being humiliated. “Rest assured, it would take you some effort to get a bastard on me.”

While Stark is distracted by this thought, Petyr lets go, instead dropping down to his knees. It's a position he does not enjoy, but does remember – as much as he'd like to claim he got as far as he has in life purely via his wits, it's not completely true. He has never had a problem humbling himself to get what he wants.

And what does he want?

_To know,_ he thinks. _To know how much he doesn't deserve her._ He's sure Cat would be horrified. After all those years of living with his betrayal, for him to stray so easily as soon as she's out of sight, and with a man at that? It would break her heart. _He_ would break her heart. Lord Stark, that is. Petyr refuses to take any responsibility in this. He is just a brothelkeeper, just a man doing his job.

He does not think he'll ever have the chance to _tell_ Cat what happened, what her husband did, but simply knowing is enough.

Ned Stark looks down at him – who doesn't look down at him – lost, confused, but he swallows deeply. “Cat will never know?” he asks.

Petyr grins. “Of course not, my lord,” he says. “You know I would never do anything to hurt her.”

_You on the other hand..._

Ned nods.

Petyr wins.


End file.
